


Songs of the gallows

by unhappy_matt



Series: Behind Bars [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blackmail, Character Study, Guard/Prisoner - Freeform, Humiliation, Implied Sexual Assault, M/M, Original Slash, POV Multiple, Power Dynamics, Pre-Slash, Prison, Sexual Harassment, Violence, Voyeurism, Whump, prison whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappy_matt/pseuds/unhappy_matt
Summary: In the early weeks after Jun's arrival in prison, he ends up colliding with someone who quickly turns out to be a much more dangerous threat than Jun could anticipate: officer Connor Evans.Or, snapshots of three early interactions between Jun and Evans.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Behind Bars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027204
Comments: 13
Kudos: 9





	1. Hunting ground

**Author's Note:**

> I wish everybody a happy beginning of this new year. <3
> 
> I've been deep into New Fandom Obsession Hell and that distracted me for quite a while, but I'm very excited to come back to this series as well. I'd been having lots of fun with it, and it's nice to write more of this setting. 
> 
> This is one of the first installments in chronological order, offering some more context to how the characters' relationship develops later.

The morning air was cool and crisp, cutting against his cheeks. Jun looked up, taking in a deep breath, allowing his shoulders to unclench for what seemed like the first time after an eternity.

Ahead of him, the yard was shrouded in a glimmering mist. The sharp lines of the walls, the barbwire, the concrete floor—everything looked hazy and distant. Not _beautiful_ by any stretch of the imagination, but a little more tolerable than the day before. The sky above was clear, a bright light blue.

Jun leaned down, checking on his shoelaces. His breath condensed into a small cloud as he shivered, shaking off the brisk cold after the warmth of the packed cafeteria. A few other inmates were starting to walk or trot around the perimeter, alone, or in pairs, or in groups of three or four.

Jun smiled. Raising his head, he zipped up his hoodie, and he started running.

-

It was that inmate from earlier, one of ten new arrivals who had been dropped off the previous week.

Connor had lost sight of him for a while after breakfast, although he wasn’t hard to spot; but now, there he was again.

Standing by his post near the fence, Connor lifted his paper cup and took another sip of coffee. The taste wasn’t good, but it gave him something to do; something to pass the time during the quiet moments that sometimes seemed to stretch out for too long, before a new breakout of noise and chaos.

Looking around the yard, he slid his free hand into his pocket. He played idly with his lighter, rolling it around with his fingertips. Swell was almost near the opposite side of the yard now. He was alone, seemingly entirely focused on his morning jog; staring straight ahead, he devoured the ground in long, forceful leaps, raising puffs of dust behind him.

Swell. Tadashi Swell. He was Japanese, but he had an American surname. He spoke English, although Connor hadn’t really heard him speak that much at all. It didn’t look like he’d gotten friendly with anyone else; during rec and at meal times, he usually seemed to find a corner where he could sit by himself.

The inmate sprinted past him for the second time. For an instant, the sound of his heavy breaths and the bouncing of his steps filled Connor’s ears, before Swell ran past him, his long hair swinging behind him.

The kid looked young, probably one of the youngest among their current occupants. He had to be over eighteen, but probably not much older than that.

He was cute, too; something not to be taken for granted in any of the shitholes where Connor’s jobs had taken him. Connor hadn’t had a chance to take a proper look up close, but Swell stood out. He was slender, with a sharp face, with that messy head of shoulder-length hair that was dyed a flaming red. He wouldn’t have looked out of place in some prissy boy band, on the cover of some magazine for teenage girls.

Connor hadn’t been present during Swell’s arrival at Briarton, but Whitman later had complained about the ton of piercings, bracelets, and necklaces the kid had on him, and how long it’d taken to make him take them all off. That, as well as the eye makeup and the nail polish, all against regulation. 

At first Swell had tried to argue—so Whitman had told Connor over lunch—trying to get the guards to let him keep one particular ring. Eventually he had relented, giving it all up.

 _“You think we’re gonna have problems?”_ Connor had asked his colleague, more for the sake of conversation than out of any real worry. Some little brat who had yet to learn manners was nothing they couldn’t take. Still, Connor’s curiosity had been prodded.

Whitman had shrugged, their new guest quickly forgotten in favor of a ham and cheese sandwich. His reply was almost disappointing, but it had confirmed what Connor expected, after all.

_“Nothing we haven’t dealt with before, right?”_

A couple days had passed before Connor saw the new kid again, and for a while, Connor had set the thought aside for later.

Still, the new arrivals were one of the rare novelties that broke the monotony. Connor’s days since he’d come to Briarton had been calmer than he’d expected, with few hitches along the way that had been dealt with efficiently and without too much fuss. There had been a few bigger fights to break out, and a raid on a production of booze in one of the bathrooms; a few people thrown in the hole, from time to time.

He got along with his colleagues just fine; most of them were unremarkable.

He’d worked to keep the peace, as he was expected to. And he’d been good at it.

It was getting boring as _fuck_.

He had been at Briarton for almost seven months now. Not that long, but it wasn’t an unwelcome change, all things considered, compared to how much he’d moved around over the last few years.

He was closer to his parents’ house, two hours away. This meant fewer excuses to miss Sunday lunch and family reunions, loud game nights with the complete gathering of his brothers and uncles and cousins. They all were giving him less shit now, after he’d taken a job with a nicer pay, a job that was _in_ the family.

Connor exhaled, tapping his foot on the cracked concrete ground. He wanted to smoke. Still an hour to go before his break, and smoking where the prisoners could see him was guaranteed to result in someone wanting to share, which he wasn’t inclined to oblige at the moment. At least not until he could arrange something worth getting in return.

Shit, Logan and his girlfriend were having their baby shower on Friday. Normally he would’ve passed, but he couldn’t get out of this one.

He’d have to get a present, too. Briarton was a private facility, and Sarah’s father, his cousin’s father-in-law, was assistant warden. He’d been impressed by Connor’s resume, and he’d shown appreciation for his work so far.

Time to do some shopping, then.

Clouds rolled overhead, and for a moment the yard was plunged into a pale milky gray.

Connor looked around. Swell had stopped running. He was near the middle of the yard; three or four others were around him. Connor couldn’t make out what they were saying; one of them took a step closer and Swell seemed to reply animatedly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Connor moved, instinctively. Something compelled him to stop. He continued to watch, his body tensing.

One of the inmates circled Swell from behind, putting a hand over his shoulder.

Another, in front of him, pulled Swell by his arm. Swell shoved him back, hitting him in the chest.

“Hey!”

Connor strode toward the small group, his hand flying to his belt. “Playtime’s over, come on. Move the fuck along, all of you.”

It took him coming closer, reaching for the handle of his stick, but eventually they stepped back. The one Swell had pushed was the last one to withdraw, raising his hands, he and Swell still staring at each other.

“Go, Mason, Velazquez. Now.” Connor spoke more quietly. Finally, the group began to dissipate.

The Japanese was turning away when Connor raised his hand. “Not you. Wait.”

Slowly, the new kid turned around. Up close, he had sharp cheekbones, a nicely shaped mouth with full lips.

Connor tilted his head. “Anything going on, inmate?” His eyes lingered on the nametag on the front of the prisoner’s uniform. “Swell, is it?”

Swell nodded curtly. He was still panting lightly, his chest raising up and down. His eyes were a deep dark brown. Connor read caution in his demeanor; tension; but not fear.

“Speak up, inmate.”

“Nothing.” Swell raised his voice a little. It was slightly raspy, as if from lack of use.

There were dark circles under his eyes. Still adjusting to a new rhythm, probably.

Connor crossed his arms.

“Address corrections officers as ‘sir’, Swell.”

Swell’s eyes darted from the ground to Connor’s face. He straightened his shoulders. “Nothing happened. Sir.” He added it after a rapid breath, like an afterthought.

“Good. Get going, then, it’s time to get back inside.”

There were still ten minutes left, but like the other inmates, Swell did not talk back further. He slid backwards, glancing up at Connor one last time. The wind puffed up the fabric of Swell’s hoodie, the sides and the sleeves swinging like sails.

Connor rubbed his thumb along his belt.

Too bad he hadn’t had a chance to see Swell when he’d been dropped off, with all those piercings Whitman had talked about. His colleague hadn’t been specific about body parts. Did Swell also have tattoos? Scars? It wouldn’t have been unusual.

Prison was all about _bodies_. So many bodies together in a closed space, all that promiscuity that turned flesh into something monotonous, repellent. Most of the time, there was little of value to be seen in all the limbs and chests and backs and bare buttocks, in the bodily fluids and waste, the coughs and the snoring and often the blood. 

Prison uniforms had a way of blurring differences. They covered, they disguised, they turned those _bodies_ shapeless. They hid secrets and violence and stories. It was an illusion of homogeneity, of equality. Underneath, it wasn’t true.

Beauty was not what interested Connor the most, but it was rare enough to be worth noticing. And Connor paid attention. He appreciated every opportunity to scratch at an interesting surface.

Connor let his gaze follow Swell’s figure until the prisoner disappeared from his view.

Opportunities didn’t simply present themselves, ready to be seized. Sometimes, they needed to be created.


	2. Cage

Jun lifted the mop over the crusted plastic bucket, wringing out the excess water. The mop met the pavement with a faint wet noise. A few steps away, another inmate was sweeping the other end of the corridor, whistling quietly to himself. Swell didn’t know his name.

Cleaning duty wasn’t so bad, all things considered. It was tiring work, and the bathrooms were gross, but it kept Jun occupied. It felt grounding, doing something with his hands, being able to move around.

It didn’t stop his mind from wandering.

Jun sped up, dragging the mop faster from side to side.

The whistling stopped.

“Hey.”

Jun lifted his head. The other inmate, with a bleached buzzed head and two missing front teeth, gestured at him with his chin. “Don’t forget to scrub the corners, too.”

Jun shrugged. “Okay.”

The other guy didn’t seem to know or remember his name, either. It was reassuring; best to lay low, and remain unnoticed as much as he could, for now. 

Jun leaned down, picking up the sponge perched on top of the bucket. He didn’t understand what the point was, when they were already washing the floors anyway, but it was whatever. He dipped it into the soapy water and kneeled down near a corner.

Maybe dinner would taste decent. After, he would sit in his bunk, and Ethan’s letter would be waiting for him. All the mail inmates received was opened and read before it was handed to them—Jun imagined a flash of Ethan’s smirk, his gentle eyes crinkling. _“No dirty pics for you, sorry, Jun.”_

Ethan’s words meant having something to look forward to, at the end of a day that started early in the morning and ended at 9 pm. Ethan would probably write about his day, about his new job as a cashier at the corner store.

He was proud of him for getting that job. He needed to tell him that.

Jun dampened the sponge some more and rubbed it harder along the edge of the wooden baseboard.

Ethan would call soon. And he would visit. If nobody else wanted to show up, they could go fuck themselves. Ethan wouldn’t forget about him. Ethan wouldn’t _pretend_ to forget. 

-

Walking around the corner, he finally found the spot where part of the cleaning crew had been assigned.

Connor stopped, a few steps away. There he was, Swell, bent down near one of the walls. He wasn’t wearing earphones; he wasn’t making conversation. He went on with his work with his head down, a series of the same monotonous gestures back and forth.

Connor waited. For what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. Under the lights, the little slivers he could see of Swell’s skin looked pale, ashen.

Connor moved closer, until he stopped right between the inmate and the bucket he was using.

Jun stopped. A shadow had materialized over his small portion of corridor. He looked up. He recognized the officer from the yard, the tall guy.

“Hey, Swell.” The guard seemed to surmise Jun’s work. “I see you got your assignment. Everything going smoothly?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Jun eyed him cautiously. “Anything I can do for you?”

It felt uncomfortable, being with one knee on the ground while the guard towered over him. Jun moved to lift himself up, but the C.O. stopped him with a gesture of his palm.

“No need. Just keep working.”

Jun hesitated; then he nodded, going back to rubbing the sponge over the same greasy stain on the floor.

It didn’t seem to be end of that. Evans leaned with a hand against the wall.

“ _Tadashi_. You’re Japanese?”

Jun’s knuckles twitched around the sponge. “I was born here.”

“Your surname’s American, though, isn’t it?”

Jun wringed out cold water from the sponge into the bucket. “It’s my stepdad’s name.” _He’s white, since that’s what you’re asking,_ he added mentally, but didn’t say. He was never surprised when people wanted to know, wanted to comment. He was used to the curiosity. The questions. Some more invasive than others.

“I see.” Despite Jun moving closer to the wall to let the guard walk past him, Evans didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. Instead he crossed his arms, widening his feet. He wasn’t especially big and burly, but with the help of the thick black leather shoes, he had a good four inches over Jun. His stance was relaxed, but that only made Jun more tense.

“I’ve seen you’ve already gotten into a scuffle or two, Swell. You’ve already been admonished for making noise in common spaces.”

“I didn’t start it,” Jun said quietly.

The guard hummed. “Yeah, that’s what everybody always says. Still… you don’t wanna start getting in trouble when you just got here.”

It wasn’t a question, not exactly. When Jun lifted the bucket and tried to push it forward, he was stopped by the tip of Evans’ shoe meeting the faded plastic, continuing to block Jun’s path.

“So, tell me. What are you in for, Swell?” He was the first C.O. to ask him, in there. “Was it drugs? Or did you steal something?”

While Jun put the sponge back and raised to grab the mop, Evans leaned closer, suddenly taking up a lot more of Jun’s space. He leaned with his arm against the wall, scanning Jun’s face. There was something _cold_ about him, almost— _surgical_.

Evans lowered his voice. “Or… were you turning tricks, maybe?”

He could have smiled, staring Jun up and down like he wanted to eat him, like the assholes who had grabbed their crotches against the fences and whistled at him when he’d arrived. Instead, Evans remained serious, almost detached. As if it were just another offhand remark that didn’t matter to him at all. Under the fluorescent lights, his eyes were a pale, steely gray.

A new wave of unease crept up Jun’s nape. So that was where the conversation had been headed all along.

“Just drugs,” he murmured, trying to maintain his voice calm and even. He pressed the mop head against the floor and tried taking a step forward. He knew without checking that the other inmate was probably listening, keeping himself out of range just enough to hope that the guard’s attention would remain focused on its present target.

“Hm.” Evans shifted slightly. “You know, there’s something you forgot, Tadashi Swell.”

Jun held his chin up. “What is it?”

“You didn’t address me as ‘sir’.”

With a single, precise movement of his foot, Evans landed a powerful kick on the bucket and sent it flying in mid-air.

The bucket hit the wall, with a loud bang that echoed through the corridor. It remained there, tipped on one side, while a tide of grayish, bubbly water spread slowly over the tiles.

_“What the fuck—”_ The words almost slipped between Jun’s teeth and his body jumped forward, instinctively, anger blooming under his skin—before he could remember where he was, what he was about to do.

He clenched his fists, then, breathing through his nose, staring at the mess at his feet.

Evans observed him, calm and expressionless. Assessing him.

“Start over,” he finally said.

His eyes didn’t leave Jun’s face as Jun leaned down to pick up the now semi-empty bucket. Their gazes met while Jun kneeled down on the floor, reaching for the sponge. Warm water soaked his knees.

Again, Evans didn’t smile, didn’t mock him. He didn’t even seem particularly pleased with his gesture. He just stood there and stared, with burning intensity, for a moment that seemed to stretch silently like a rubber band; then he turned around, and he was gone.

And Jun remembered something, then—fragments of a conversation overheard in the bathroom, maybe a couple days before.

An inmate was washing his hands, talking low to another guy, their heads close for a moment. _“Hey, careful with that hack. He’s got a reputation. My friend told me he met him up north.”_

Jun had leaned over the sink, avoiding eye contact as he listened. He hadn’t been particularly interested in overhearing, really, but it was always a good idea to stay informed without giving it away.

More whispering, muttered agreement. A description: tall, white guy, brown hair. Not very specific, sure. How many officers fit that profile? But it matched the guard Jun had met in the yard. It could be him.

Jun had rinsed his mouth and put the cap back on his toothpaste tube.

Right before he left, he had caught something else: _“Yeah. Evans. He’s a mean motherfucker, that one.”_


	3. The long way down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title inspired by the song "Bottom of the river" by Delta Rae.

The bathroom was unusually empty. Jun walked up to the sinks, gritting his teeth at the pain flaring through his nape when he leaned closer to one of the opaque mirrors.

 _Fucking bastards_. He’d hit the back of his head when Velazquez and Mason, along with three others, had cornered him inside a broom closet.

He lifted his hand, carefully tracing the blooming bruise on his right temple. Turning on the faucet, he splashed a bit of water on his face. He washed off some of the dried blood on his mouth, then carefully proceeded to lift tufts of hair on his nape, finding the spot that was pulsing with waves of dull pain.

He pressed humid fingers to it, grimacing at the contact with his swollen skin. At least Mason had regretted putting his dick near Jun’s mouth. He wouldn’t be trying again anytime soon.

Jun closed the faucet, staring at his slightly distorted reflection. He fixed his hair, the collar of his shirt. Not great, but he probably looked better than ten minutes before.

He glanced at the stalls. Might as well take advantage of some peace and quiet, before he headed back to his bunk. Before that royally shitty detour his morning had taken, he’d had half a mind of finding someone to play cards with; he wasn’t feeling quite in the mood for it anymore.

With a sigh, he headed toward the fourth stall, in the corner farthest from the door.

Once in there, he closed his eyes and breathed out. No doors to close, but he could at least pretend, for a minute, to have a little bit of space all to himself.

His mother’s money had finally arrived. Maybe he could get something for the pain… but he wasn’t sure it would be the right move. Word travelled fast. He hadn’t looked like a crybaby when he had pushed back against those fuckers, he wasn’t going to start now.

He unzipped his trousers, reaching for the toilet paper he had slipped inside the elastic band of his underwear.

Then he froze into place.

“Hey, Swell.”

Alarm flared under Jun’s skin. Not his lucky day. If someone up above had it out for him, the message couldn’t be clearer.

“What happened today…” the man behind him said, slowly, leisurely. “There’s a whole lot more of that waiting for you, y’know.”

For a fraction of a second, Jun’s mind went to the guys who had attacked him. Maybe one them coming back for a second try, after all. Then his memory offered another suggestion.

Heavy steps—thick regulation shoes. Jun swallowed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jun didn’t turn. Even if someone came, C.O. or inmate, it was likely they’d just take one look at the situation and walk right out. Unless someone wanted to join in. Neither option was promising.

“Oh, I think you know.” Evans’ voice seemed to soften. “No. Don’t,” he added, when Jun’s hands moved to tuck his dick back in and zip himself back up. “Stay right where you are, Swell. Hands down.”

Cautiously, Jun obeyed, letting both arms fall back to his sides. He scoffed. “Aren’t you people paid to put a stop to fights?” he hissed. “I figured that was your job.”

“It is, yes.” Again that tone, a shade of something Jun couldn’t quite put his finger on. A trace of—amusement? Curiosity? It was as if Evans were sharing something private with him, a hint of familiarity, like he was talking about something that Jun should know.

Evans was close, now. Close enough that Jun could sense the solid presence of his body behind him, could smell the leather of his shoes and that pungent scent of something like pine, musk, that perfume or aftershave he wore.

“Yeah, well.” Jun stared at the wall, at the spots of black mold in the corners where gray tiles converged. “I can look after myself, thank you for your concern.”

The guard chuckled. “You fight back, I’ll give you that. And you’ve been lucky. But, Swell…” Jun stiffened, then, because the officer’s hands brushed his back, coming to rest on the partition walls, caging Jun’s shoulders.

“One of these days, you might fall into something worse. Maybe, next time, you won’t be able to kick and bite your way out.”

Jun let out a shallow breath. The pulsing on his nape seemed to intensify. Had… Evans sent Velazquez and Mason after him, despite stopping them during rec time the other day? Or, at least, was he telling Jun that he knew, and he wasn’t very concerned about something like that going on while he wasn’t looking?

He could be bluffing, of course. Testing the waters with Jun; flexing his muscles. _Why_ go through all that trouble, Jun couldn’t tell, but he was liking everything about this less and less with every second.

Evans wasn’t touching him, not quite; but he was close enough that he almost could.

Jun swallowed. “I guess you’re not here to talk about the weather. What do you want?”

“Don’t be impatient.” Evans’ shoe slipped between Jun’s divaricated feet, his knee nearly brushing against Jun’s backside. Jun’s throat tightened up at the rustle of the guard’s trousers.

“You need protection, Swell. That’s what I’ve come to offer you.”

It was Jun’s turn to bark out a humorless laugh. “Right. ‘Cause _you_ have that kind of power, in here.”

If his comment had stung, Evans’ voice didn’t betray it. “Your smart mouth won’t be doing you any favors. Not with the way those rabid dogs in here wanna use it.” Fingers crept up Jun’s neck, past the collar of his shirt, to graze his skin and skirt around the bruise there, fingertips raking through his hair. Jun’s heartbeat sped up, thumping in his ears. That disconcerting _intimacy_ , again. Other inmates, at least, had just been upfront about what they wanted to do to him, with none of the dramatics.

“Things are only gonna get worse for you.” Evans continue to pet Jun’s hair, slowly, in a way that sent a million tiny shivers up along Jun’s skin. “See, the issue now is whether you’d rather deal with ten, or twenty, or fifty men—or with one.”

The guard spun him around, grabbing him by his nape. Jun hissed in pain and ground his teeth as he finally found himself facing Evans.

His hands went to cover himself, still, stubbornly, despite Evans’ warnings from before. Anything that this asshole wanted to take from him, he would have to rip it out of Jun by force, if he could—like hell Jun was just gonna give him anything.

Evans’ pale eyes moved down below Jun’s belt.

“I said,” he repeated, calmly, “hands down.”

“Fuck you,” Jun spat out.

“That so?”

Evans’ arm moved. With a resounding smack, hot-red pain exploded behind Jun’s eyelids and his teeth sank into his tongue, as Evans hit him across his face with the back of his hand.

Jun staggered, tears stinging in his eyes; he gripped one of the walls for balance, letting go of the front of his trousers with one hand.

His ears were still ringing, his whole face burning—something dark flashed in his blurry vision—and Jun flinched when the tip of Evans’ baton came crashing down against the tiles of the partition wall on Jun’s right, a few inches away from his face.

“… Shit,” he muttered, keeping himself upright on unsteady knees.

He looked up at Evans, shaking.

Evans returned his gaze.

“Don’t make repeat myself again. Now, let’s see if you’ve gotten any better at doing what you’re told.”

Jun’s mind ran frantically through the options he had. He could fight—he could try to wriggle himself out, somehow, try to get the advantage of surprise over Evans—and he’d probably end up getting beaten within an inch of his life, after Mason and Velazquez and their merry group had already roughened him up.

It was simply about picking his battles, he told himself, as he removed his hands with shaking wrists. He scrambled to muster all the dignity he could, to turn his face into a cold, expressionless mask, while he allowed the guard to take in the sight of his bare, soft cock.

The baton was slipped back into its case.

“Now we’re talking,” Evans said softly, staring intently. “You’re a pretty thing, Swell. I’m sure you know that.” He took a step back, but something warned Jun not to move, not yet.

Evans licked his lips, and his eyes flicked back up to Jun’s face.

“I know. You think you can handle yourself, that you’ll find a way of making it out on your own. But you won’t, Swell. Not if you’re on my bad side.”

Evans leaned closer again. “Up until now, I’ve kept to the sidelines. See, I wouldn't mind keeping you all to myself, but believe me, there are plenty of runner-ups who’ve already set their sights on you. If you don’t want my help… you’re gonna be fair game, Swell. And let me tell you, I’m not gonna just stand back and look the other way. I’ll make sure that anyone who wants a piece of you can get a taste.”

Evans shrugged. “A trade is a trade. I happen to be very well-versed in many of them around here.”

Jun’s chin snapped up.

“I’m nobody’s fucking bunk bitch.”

Evans smiled. It was the first time Jun saw him do it. His lips were—surprisingly delicate, a pale pink, turning upward in a cruel line, uncovering a set of very white, very straight teeth. Like a car salesman, Jun’s mind provided, weirdly, like a lawyer in a commercial.

“You can sleep on it, if you want,” Evans offered sweetly. “But I wouldn’t take too long.”

He pulled back, and Jun almost felt like he could breathe again.

“Go ahead, now. Keep doin’ what you came for.”

An acre taste of bile built up against Jun’s palate.

“I’m not pissing in front of you.”

There was an instant, a flash of something dark and terrifying in Evans’ eyes—where Jun almost wondered if Evans would _make_ him.

Instead, Evans cocked his head, and took another step back.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” he said, still smirking. He cast a long, greedy look up and down Jun’s body. “I’ll see you around, sweetheart. Don’t keep me waiting.”

The bathroom turned silent again.

Jun didn’t move, after. He didn’t know for how long.

_Fuck._

Nausea settled in his stomach and it didn’t leave him, even after he finally headed back to his cell. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, walking with his head down, staring at the floors under his feet. He didn’t have a cellmate yet—the only miserable piece of comfort that day.

Up to that point, his mind had been focused on the other prisoners. He’d been busy trying to figure out the system of gangs, the lonely wolves, and any business opportunities that might be worth getting into. He didn’t want to fuck up, he wasn’t _stupid_ —but there were always ways to make life in there more bearable, if he could be smart and careful about it.

He’d known there would be assholes who might try to start shit with him—inside like there were outside. People saw him, and they underestimated him. Figured he was just a kid, just some easy meat they could eat up and spit back out.

Sitting over the rough, worn-out blanket, Jun watched the narrow world that extended in front of him beyond those bars.

There seemed to be another key player that he had neglected, in that hell hole.

Maybe Evans was lying about the scope of his influence; maybe he wasn’t. Maybe, this time, Jun had been the one to misjudge, after all.

He was not going to make the same mistake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor is a Large Ham. He chews the scenery. He's a villain who monologues!  
> He's very fun to write. 😁😈

**Author's Note:**

> Shout-out to the reader who was curious about the height difference between Jun and Connor! ^^ I'm not always super detailed about physical descriptions, but I thought I might use this part of the story as an opportunity to observe the characters more closely.
> 
> There are more details I want to include about Jun's and Connor's backgrounds, but I don't want to dump everything in all at once. I try to disseminate hints here and there, and I hope to be able to explore both characters more as this series progresses. 
> 
> Evans is a DICK. To be honest, I think I might even be toning him down too much. However, since this is a bit of a character introduction, I also don't want to rush it. Plenty of time for his horrible potential to unfold. ;)


End file.
